


This is Not (In Fact) Okay

by rileywrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Omega Derek Hale, SBabo, Senior Stiles, Slow Burn, Sophomore Derek, Sterek Bingo 2017, at least by rileywrites standards lbr, sbswitched
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 02:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: Derek and Stiles end up partnered for a project, and Derek contents himself with being a part of Stiles' life. For a while....Derek meets Stiles in his political science class. It's a 200-level class, so he doesn't expect any seniors to be involved.He definitely doesn't expect the hotshot senior midfielder from the lacrosse team to be in the class, let alone sitting beside him.





	This is Not (In Fact) Okay

Derek meets Stiles in his political science class. It's a 200-level class, so he doesn't expect any seniors to be involved.

He definitely doesn't expect the hotshot senior midfielder from the lacrosse team to be in the class, let alone sitting beside him.

"Hey, man. I'm Stiles." He smiles, and Derek's mouth goes dry. "You mind if I sit here? If I sit any further back, my attention is shot."

"N-no, it's cool. It's cool, you can sit here, we're cool." Derek physically bites his tongue.

Stiles smiles, a little crooked and a lot charming. "Cool."

He drops his bag and sits beside Derek, mere inches away.

"You got a name?"

"D-Derek. My name is Derek." Derek kicks himself. He's fucking 19 years old, surely he should be smoother than this.

"Derek." Stiles seems to roll the name on his tongue, and Derek fucking melts. "Awesome. This should be a good class, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Thankfully, the professor walks in before Derek can embarrass himself further.

He's only this flustered because it's the first class of the semester. Surely Thursday will be better.

...

Thursday is not better.

Stiles rolls into class straight from a practice, his ankle wrapped with an ice pack. He's wearing one of those shirts that's been cut to the point of almost not being a shirt anymore, and Derek forgets to breathe for a second.

He winces as he sits, eyes flashing red just long enough for Derek to catch it.

"Isn't your healing supposed to handle that kind of thing?" He asks, before he can stop himself.

Stiles smirks. "Sometimes, an ache is bad enough to be painful but not enough to heal as quickly. It's not worth jump-starting the process."

"Oh. Okay." Derek's ears are burning, but his senses are going fucking wild at the scent of a freshly-sweaty Stiles. "Practice went late?"

"Yeah. Coach is an asshole. He does good work, but he's an asshole. Didn't even have time to shower or anything."

Derek can tell. Stiles is a fucking double-alpha, and it takes everything in him not to just bare his neck. Pathetic.

But Derek is no idiot. An alpha as strong and well-connected as Stiles (who he definitely stalked online on Tuesday) wouldn't want an omega like Derek. So he forces himself to looks straight ahead and focus on the lecture.

...

Derek's suppressants leave him with one mini-heat every three months to keep his hormones at a safe level, so technically he could take them forever. His mini-heat in September falls on a Thursday, so he has to take a heat day and make up the work.

(He spends the day in bed with his favorite toy, trying to keep from moaning Stiles' name between orgasms.)

When he comes to class on Tuesday, Stiles lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Hey, man. You got the notes I emailed you, right? I know you had to take a day, and the PowerPoint was useless."

"Yeah. Yeah, I got them. Smith gave you my email?"

"Nah, pulled it from the listserv. Only one Hale in this class." Stiles is jumpy, fingers tapping wildly on the desk, on his laptop, on the chair. "I, ah, I know you like those coffee drink things, so I grabbed one on my way over."

He produces a bottled frappuccino from his bag, and Derek grins so wide his cheeks hurt.

"I do like these. Thank you."

(If he preens at the thought of Stiles giving him a gift, he'll just blame it on instinct and leftover hormones.)

Stiles' smile is impossibly wider, elfin nose wrinkling in his joy. "Awesome."

...

They get paired for a group project at the end of September.

They exchange numbers, and Stiles takes a goofy picture to set as his contact in Derek's phone.

Derek discovers that Stiles is wicked smart, with facts to back up his statements, and a curious fascination for random information. They work together in the library or in the student union, public spaces designed for studying. Then, one night- 

"Dude, I've gotta get back to the house, or Lydia is going to kill me." Then, "wanna come over for dinner? It's Kira's night to cook, so it should actually be edible."

"I-" Is Derek actually going back to the wolf's den? "Sure. Yeah, that'd be nice."

...

It is not nice. Not at first, with the members of Stiles' pack staring at him like he's a new toy.

"Alright, back off people. Give the man some space." Stiles drops his keys on the hall table and kicks off his shoes. "He's a human, not a chew toy."

A blonde with sensual curves and sharp eyes smirks at him, almost reeking of alpha. "Oh, but boss, he's so pretty. I can't even chew on him a little?"

"Ignore her." Stiles grabs Derek's wrist. "Come on, before the pups decide to get mouthy."

The woman in the kitchen is less terrifying. She smells like beta, like stable hormones and even-keeled contentment.

"Kira, this is Derek. He's joining us for dinner." Stiles leaves Derek at the kitchen island and starts rustling in the fridge. "Add beer to the shopping list, yeah?"

"Already on there. Scott noticed this morning." Kira turns back to Derek. "So, what's your major?"

"Social studies education, secondary, concentration in US history and government," Derek rattles off immediately. "I'm going to teach high school."

"That's awesome. Scott, Stiles' second, is actually an elementary school teacher. Education is admirable."

At least one pack member thinks he's nice.

Stiles reappears from the depths of the fridge with an assortment of beer bottles and at least four half-empty bottles of wine.

"If we don't drink this tonight, I'm making kitchen sink sangria, and no one can stop me."

Kira laughs. "Derek, would you like a drink? It would help save us from the jungle juice that is  kitchen sink sangria."

"I- sure. Not, like, a lot. I'm not..."

"He's a baby," Erica purrs from the doorway. "Liam's age." 

"One drink won't hurt him," Stiles says. "It's not like no one in this house drinks underage. Hell, Liam actually managed to get drunk this weekend on some witches' brew shit at the Zeta house."

"Take your pick, sweetie." Kira grabs a glass from the cabinet and hands it to him. "We've got a little bit of everything."

Derek grabs the first bottle he recognizes and pours himself a glass. He's not a big drinker, but he's got to calm down if this whole dinner thing is going to be remotely successful. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Kira grins. "Stiles, I like this one. Can we keep him?"

Stiles laughs, but it doesn't feel quite right. "Sure. As long as Erica doesn't break him."

"I'll make sure she doesn't." Kira snarls playfully in Erica direction, and the reminder that this steady beta is a shifter too is just... Derek isn't really into women, but damn.

"Kira has a new pet," someone drawls from the  door to what must be a mudroom off of the kitchen. "Or, rather, she's borrowing Stiles' new pet."

The woman in the doorway is petite, with copper penny hair and a tight green dress. She looks like she could easily kill Derek, but she's not a shifter. At least, Derek doesn't think she is.

"Lydia, he's my friend, not my pet. Derek, this is Lydia Martin."

"H-hi." Derek would try to hide his feelings, but it's useless in a house full of shifters. "It's nice to meet you."

...

It is not nice.

Dinner is exhausting, so many new people and so much stimulation.

After dinner, Stiles guides him upstairs to the master bedroom.

"It'll be quieter in here," he explains. "The bedrooms are soundproofed, so there's less distraction."

"Yeah, it's... way better. Like, I like your pack, but they're a lot." Derek has to focus, or he'll get lost in the fact that they're in Stiles' bedroom.

(It smells like him, like alpha, and Derek isn't a shifter but it's strong enough to be distracting even for him.)

"Now, where were we on this project?" Stiles pulls out his laptop and gestures to a spare chair in the corner. "We've got all the research out of the way, yeah?"

Derek pulls the chair up and opens his laptop. "Now we just have to figure out what to do with it."

This? This part is easy.

This part is nice.

...

The last part of the long-term project is due right before finals hit, so Derek and Stiles just… keep studying together. Derek has quickly become a fixture at the pack house, and so does his roommate once he meets Erica.

"I'm basically living in a single," Derek explains to Stiles with a laugh. "Boyd has been here all the freaking time."

"I know. Eating my food, banging my beta. He's lucky I like him." Stiles snags Derek's notes and bites the end of his pen. "Was I missing for this class?"

Derek shrugs. "You were. I emailed you the notes, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." Stiles scrubs his face with his hands. "I've been so out of it here lately, and it isn't even the full moon or anything. Fuck it, whatever. Want to go do something? I can't stare at these notes any longer. My brain will explode."

"Yeah, sure." Derek closes his computer. "What do you have in mind?"

Stiles grins, a wicked light in his eyes. "Let's go dancing."

"No. No way, there's no way in hell I'm going dancing. Stiles, have you met me? I'm not-"

His protests fall on deaf ears. Stiles is already up and peeling his shirt off, grabbing a clean one from the pile of laundry on his bed. Derek trails off, distracted by large expanses of skin, eyes caught by a tattoo between Stiles' shoulders.

"What... what's the swirl thing?"

Stiles tugs the shirt on and goes back to the pile. "It's a triskele. It means about a million things, but for me, it's pack, it's alignment. Alpha, beta, omega, all have to work together to make things balanced."

"That's... That's really cool." Derek clears his throat. "I still don't want to go dancing."

Stiles throws a shirt at his head. "Then we'll just go out for a drink, some food. Come on, you've got to get out some. My treat."

"I... yeah, okay. Okay, I'll go. It'll be fun."

...

It is not, in fact, fun.

It’s infuriating, because the whole thing feels so much like a date it hurts.

Stiles holds the door and pulls out the chair at the bar. Stiles buys drinks and appetizers, waiting for Derek to take the first bite before he starts to eat. He listens intently as Derek complains about his bitch of a child development professor, and he keeps smiling all charming at him like he matters.

"I just do what I can when I'm in the classroom. Luckily, my mentor teacher has worked with my professor before, so she understands the fuckery I'm dealing with. What are you staring at?"

"What? What, nothing." Stiles sits up straighter, eyes on his glass instead of on Derek's face. "Nothing, it's nothing."

"Is there cilantro in my teeth? You'd be a shitty friend if you didn't tell me," Derek teases, trying to banish Stiles' stricken look.

"No, no cilantro. It's fine." Stiles forces a smile. "You were saying about the shitty professor?"

Derek is going to continue his story, but then-

"Yo, Stilinski, what are you doing here, man? Don't you have some exam shit to do?" A dude in a black hoodie with piercing blue eyes wraps an arm around Stiles' neck and ruffles his hair. "That's why you didn't come out with us tonight."

"I'm taking a break, asshat. I'm allowed a break, right?"

"Yeah, a 'break' with this little piece of omega, right." The man looks Derek over with a slight sneer. "Seriously, man, where did you find him?"

"Cool it, Daehler. This is Derek, he's my friend, we met in Poli Sci. Derek, this is Matt, he's an asshole I'm forced to play lacrosse with."

Matt laughs, and Derek hates him for being beautiful. "Dude, I'm your friend. Yeah, I'm an asshole, but so are you."

 _Footage not found_. Derek frowns. Is Stiles an asshole to other people? What makes him different.

"Anyway, wanna ditch whatever the hell this is and come with us. We're heading to Pike house, the hot witch from Zeta is bringing her good shit." Matt looks Derek over again, and Derek fights the urge to shrink in his seat. "Maybe we'll find you some hot little number to take home, someone more in your league."

Derek can feel angry heat rise in his cheeks, his ears burning.

"I'll just let you have fun, then. Someone at the house will let me get my stuff." Derek stands, pulling his coat on and shoving his phone in his pocket. "Hope you find your hot little number."

Stiles finally says something. "No, Derek, wait-"

Derek walks out before Stiles can stop him. He left his car at the pack house, so he has to get an Uber to get across town.

It's fine. It's going to be fine.

...

It is not fine.

Derek didn't think it was a date, okay? He's not stupid.

But hearing the harsh reality of the situation out Matt Daehler is pain he really didn't need tonight.

Lydia opens the door when he gets back, and she takes one look at him and steps aside to let him in.

"What did he do? He's my alpha, but if he fucked something up, I'm not afraid to kick his ass."

Derek forces a smile. "It's fine. I'm just tired, is all."

Lydia doesn't believe him, but she decides not to push the issue.

"I'm gonna grab my stuff from his room, then I'm heading back to campus."

Upstairs, he peels off the borrowed shirt and tugs his own back on.

What was he thinking?

Matt killed a hope Derek didn't know he had.

Gorgeous, athletic, older double-alphas don't fall for scrawny human omegas. Stiles deserves someone as amazing as he is, someone who will fit into his life better, into his world.

Derek shoves his laptop and notes and shit into his bag, ignoring rhyme and reason in favor of speed.

He pulls out of the driveway as Stiles pulls in.

...

Paige looks startled when Derek shows up on her doorstep, but she just steps aside and closes the door behind him.

"What's wrong, baby? You look a mess." Paige pours him a glass of water and waits for him to drink. "You can tell me."

"I thought I had a chance," Derek croaks. "Not consciously, but... god, I got my hopes up for nothing."

Because Paige is the literal best, she doesn't push for more.

Derek finds himself wrapped in the obnoxious orange Afghan that lives on her and Hayley's couch, a cup of hot tea in his hands. He loves this place, loves the steady environment that two female betas create together.

"I haven't been a good friend lately," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

Paige tuts at him. "Hush. We go through phases. We always have." She kisses his hair. "You know I'm always here for you. Now, do you want to tell me what happened? Or do you just want to watch RuPaul's Drag Race and talk shit?"

"Drag race. At least for now."

Hayley comes come late, three or four episodes later, and promptly curls up on the opposite side of Derek.

"Do I need to kill anyone? I will, you know."

"It's my own fault, so no. Just... just cuddle, for a while?"

"We can definitely do that."

...

Stiles is sitting in the hallway when Derek goes back to his room the next morning, a huge canvas grocery bag sitting next to him.

"You look like a fucking nightmare," Derek says before he can stop himself. "How the hell did you get in?"

Stiles startles out of half-slumber and stands almost immediately.

"Boyd let me in. I feel like a fucking nightmare too, so there's that. I-" Stiles shakes his head, frowning so hard it makes Derek's face hurt. He holds the bag out. "This is for you. Can I come in?"

Derek opens the door without second thought. It's been three months, but Stiles is already a forgone conclusion. Of course he can come in.

"What is this?" Derek sets the bag on the table and starts pulling things out.

Chocolate. Wine. The cookies from the pretentious bakery downtown that he loves so much. The really good pepperoni sticks. A blanket. Three shirts, one of them his. A succulent in a tiny pot, tucked in a box to keep it safe. A new journal, and a box of the pens he likes. 

"What... Stiles, why?"

Stiles won't look him in the eye. "I, ah, I go into rut next week. I've been gathering this shit without realizing it for weeks now, every time you said you liked something. Some stuff I've given you already, but..."

They're courting gifts. Stiles has been courting him.

"This doesn't make any sense... Stiles, there's no way you meant to court me. You said it yourself, you didn't realize."

"I thought you wouldn't want me. I'm a double-alpha, so I already have so much responsibility. Not to mention, you're so out of my league." Stiles looks up at him. "Daehler is a jackass who doesn't know shit. I'm sorry he hurt you last night, and I'm sorry I didn't defend you."

"I-" What is he supposed to say? He can't even fucking process it.

Derek looks down at the pile of stuff on his desk, every item perfect in its own way.

"I accept." Not what he was planning on saying, but it gets the point across. "Stiles, what Matt said hurt because I thought he was telling the truth. But if you... if this... I accept the offer to help you through rut."

Stiles closes the gap between them, but he doesn't touch him.

(Derek wants him to touch him.)

"It isn't just hormones. It isn't just biology, and rut, and all that shit," Stiles promises. "It's you."

Derek fists a hand in Stiles' shirt and pulls him even closer.

"I'm going to kiss you," he says, smiling. "It's going to be good."

...

It's not good.

It's perfect.


End file.
